When we arrive at the catastrophe that is Ian’s name written in giant chalk letters, Jordan sets the bucket down. Not wanting to waste time, I get on my hands and knees and scrub like Cinderella trying to get her chores done before the ball.
The sun quickly gets brighter in the sky. Jordan must sense the panic in my scrubbing because he drops his backpack next to mine and joins me on the ground, where we take turns scrubbing furiously at the I in Ian’s name.
I watch Jordan scrub the sidewalk back and forth, his forearms tense and taut. He’s really getting into it. His brow is scrunched in concentration, and tiny beads of perspiration have gathered around his hairline. He is the unicorn of guys. What kind of person drops everything to help a random girl behind a bush?
After a while, Jordan rocks back on his heels and looks at the still-very-visible I. “What is this made out of? It’s like the permanent marker of chalks.”
I mirror him and lean back, still a little breathless from my last turn at scrubbing. “At this point, the earth could flood, and everything would wash away except these letters.” I groan and shove my palms into my eyes, trying to forge a new plan of attack, but no matter how I cut it, Ian—along with the whole school—will think I want to go to Homecoming with him. I’ll be the clingy girlfriend who was clueless that her boyfriend cheated on her.
“I don’t want to overstep,” Jordan says, breaking through my downward spiral. “But if you’re up for it, I can go with you to Homecoming.”
I look up at him, not quite following his train of thought.
Jordan stands and tilts his head, looking at the chalk letters from a new vantage point. “I think we can leave the chalk and make a few adjustments. Turn ‘Ian’ into ‘Jordan.’”
I stand next to him, and I can see what he’s proposing. It could work. And while I don’t make a habit of going to Homecoming with random strangers, I’ve also never been this desperate before. In just a few minutes, cars will start filling the parking lot, and it will be too late.
“Are you sure?” I hold my breath. I hope he’s sure.Please be sure.
“Yeah. I love dances.” He smiles, and I’m relieved to see the genuine spark in his golden-brown eyes.
“Okay.”
I don’t think twice about this makeshift plan. The clock is ticking. I sprint to my car, because self-preservation demands it, and grab my chalk.
Minutes later, Jordan and I finish the new chalk invitation just as the first few cars enter the student parking lot. For the most part, the lettering looks intentional, aside from the O and R in Jordan—they look a little wide—but it will do.
We both rise to our feet and dust the multicolored chalk from our jeans and hands.
“Okay, what’s your number?” Jordan asks. I tell him, and he puts it into his phone. “I’ll be just around the building. Text when you’re ready for me.”
I watch him jog away, and I shake my head in amazement. Where did this boy come from?
When students start to pass by, take pictures, and wait around for the mysterious “Jordan” to appear, I begin to question why I went so big with the invitation in the first place. But the answer is simple—Ian and I had been together for two whole years. My entire high school existence has been with him by my side.
Yesterday, I felt like no declaration was too big. But now, I just feel small.
Minutes later, I spot Ian in the parking lot, walking toward the front of the school with his favorite book in his hand.My stomach bottoms out. I text Jordan, and he immediately responds.
Jordan: Sell it.
Sell it?
I can’t finish puzzling that out because Jordan barrels into me, sweeping my feet right off the cement as he spins me around. “Devons! Of course, I’ll go to Homecoming with you!” He declares it like we’ve known each other longer than thirty minutes.
People start clapping and catcalling.
Oh,sell it. I probably look like a rag doll in his arms as he twirls my lifeless body around. I quickly remedy that by flinging my arms around his neck and giving him an embrace that’s as upbeat as his surprise bear hug.
I try my best to look excited, but I can barely manage a simple smile, because from my vantage point over Jordan’s shoulder, I glimpse Ian walking next to Olivia. She slides her hand into his, and I can almost hear my heart shatter into a million little pieces. Seeing a picture of them together is one thing. Seeing them together in person is another.
My eyes fill, and I tighten my grip around Jordan, who is literally the only thing holding me together right now. A sob breaks free, sending a tremor through my body. Jordan must feel it because he instantly sets my feet back on the ground. But instead of letting me go to face a hoard of gossipy teens, he lets me nuzzle my face into his chest and break down in ugly tears, holding me well into first period.
· TWO WEEKS LATER—HOMECOMING ·
Going to a dance with Jordan should come with a waiver. It would read something like this.
Attention: Jordan’s dance date:
